


Open Carry

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Banter, Dominance, Don't underestimate scientists, Dubious Science, Earning Respect, Laboratories, Major Character Injury, Mid-Canon, Other, Repairs, Science Experiments, Self-Defense, Snark, Space Flight, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Wheeljack's Inventions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Brains vs. Brawn" has been an endless debate. What should happen when one side creates a paradox out of the other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Carry

“Well…whatever I expected to happen, I have to say it wasn’t… _you_ ,” Wheeljack commented, lifting his hands a bit higher to show he was unarmed. The sword tip dancing under his chin didn’t lower a fraction, but the mech holding it, who bore something of a resemblance to him, rolled his optics a little.

“Ugh, I should’ve known,” he muttered. “The audial lights.”

Wheeljack tilted his helm questioningly, his own optics narrowing. “Yeah, they keep me balanced. What’s it to you?”

The sword tip shifted closer, enough that if Wheeljack leaned forward it would nick the foremost cables. From what he could see, he could admire the balance of it, though. “I buried that coding eons ago. It’s an annoyance.”

“Then I’ll just keep talking,” Wheeljack said innocently, his audial strobes brightening as he continued. “In case you were wondering how you got here, one of my inventions malfunctioned. It was meant to age energon to its vintage state, but…” He glanced at the machine, which by now had stopped its whirring. “…aw, frag it. Who knows how it dropped you here?”

The lookalike stranger scoffed lightly. “Are you asking me? I gave up science vorns ago.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Wheeljack questioned, feeling a strange sense of disappointment. He knew he should probably be calling for backup while he was distracting the intruder from harming him, but he legitimately wanted an answer, so he ignored that notion for another minute.

“I’m better at breaking things than fixing ’em. Obviously.” Here he nodded to Wheeljack’s invention, which had started lightly smoking.

That was the nanoklik Wheeljack needed, stretching out his left hand and easily finding the nearest vial on the long island he used as a lab table. The other mech’s arm was target and he cried out as the charged acid made contact with his plating. Wheeljack took advantage of the distraction, seizing the blade and uncaring when it sliced his fingers. He flipped it to the opposite hand, swinging testingly it in loops. The handle almost seemed _fitted_ to his grip!

“Quite a blade,” he praised, though his admiring grin became a wince as the other mech growled and clenched his teeth, prying off the acid-touched piece of plating and then drawing the sword’s twin from his back.

“I like to think so,” he snarled just before he charged, the strength behind his swing unsurprising, but Wheeljack still staggered under it. His opponent noted this and repeated the process, swinging heavily at his midsection, a bare miss. His pride was already evident; he was taking Wheeljack’s scientific status at face value.

That would be his mistake.

As the intruder swung at his midsection a second time, Wheeljack thrust his blade down on its double and then aimed for the exposed cabling where the burned plating had just been removed. It was expected; the mech swung upward, inflicting a long scratch right up the middle of Wheeljack’s chest. He hissed. It was enough to sting, but not burn, which meant energon hadn’t been spilled—yet, at least. Briefly the two made optic contact and Wheeljack hoped that overly projecting his fear would be enough to give him the edge. It resulted in the other reversing his sword and hammering the hilt into Wheeljack’s facemask, hard enough to dent. He couldn’t help but notice that had been the kinder of the many options to put him down, but the thought was fleeting as he tried to regain his balance. A microscopic hesitation from the other gave him time to do so.

_That’s right, lookalike. Underestimate me, go easy on me…_

Wheeljack would know the layout of this lab if he were blind or deaf, so he twisted around his favorite stool and slid it forward, his opponent vaulting over it with speed belying his size, like Ravage over rugged terrain. Wheeljack hadn’t stopped moving since he’d pushed the stool, scrambling around and over the island to stand where the other had. As he did, he switched hands and swung again for the exposed cabling, close enough to hear the rush of air past the light metal as it missed.

His rival dodged, startling Wheeljack by sweeping his blade through the beakers on the island, showering him with broken glass. During the distraction, Wheeljack felt the stool being pushed back at him, knocking one of his feet off kilter. The other received a sharp slash to the calf plating and he fell. He still managed to keep ahold of the stolen sword, but it hardly mattered; the other was again poised, kissing the underside of his chin.

“Decent moves. What are you made of?” the victor asked, sounding perplexed and almost…impressed.

Wheeljack didn’t lift his helm, but his optics moved to the mech’s face. “Spoons and lids,” he snarked. “Wit…and _science_.”

It was precisely then that the lab bay doors opened and Ratchet entered, nearly dropping the data pad he held in his disbelief. “What in the Pit?! Wheeljack!”

Wheeljack watched his opponent react to the name as well, turning to look at the new arrival. “I’m fine, Ratchet,” he said, putting a bit of stress onto the name to test a hunch. Sure enough, the intruder reacted to that too, his sword shivering along with its owner’s guard. Rising to his feet, Wheeljack tapped the edges of the swords together, regaining the attention of his counterpart. “No need to call security, right?”

His lookalike glanced between the scientist and the medic before slowly shaking his helm. “Guess not,” he agreed, sheathing his sword and seeming pleased when Wheeljack tossed him the other one to put alongside it.

Ratchet moved further into the room, optics distrustfully scanning the new arrival. “I see you’ve got an arm that needs repairing,” he remarked cautiously, gesturing to the area bare of plating.

“A misunderstanding,” Wheeljack explained. “But never mind that… _Wheeljack_ here needs a lift home. I’ll need you to repair my winemaker.”

Ratchet blinked several times and glanced at the machine, sighing when he saw the damage to it. “That’s just great, Wheeljack,” he grumbled as he bent over it and started his work.

“Sorry, doc,” the counterpart Wheeljack piped up, earning another huff of irritation.

“I don’t let just anyone call me that.”

The alternative Wheeljack smiled a little, glancing at the original, who nodded sagely in agreement. “I don’t doubt it,” his double conceded after a pause and to Wheeljack’s glee, his audial fins sputtered and kindled light.

When he escorted this Wheeljack back to his proper universe, he’d make sure not to tell.


End file.
